


Under the Hood

by orphan_account



Category: Arrow (TV 2012), Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: Crossover, F/M, Mild Gore, Superheroes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-07
Updated: 2014-07-07
Packaged: 2018-02-07 21:12:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1914021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Vigilante is an engima - that is, until he pops up in the back of Annabeth's car, hurt and bleeding. She's the only one he trusts now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Under the Hood

You know what, just  _once_  after a long, hard day of disabling pop-up blockers and unmuting Youtube videos for technology-obtuse staffers, I’d like to get into my car, switch the ignition, rev it into life, turn to back out of the parking space with every intention to get home, pour myself a (large) glass of wine, catch up on last week’s episode of  _Cosmos_  and not be pulled into a life of vigilantism.

But of course, that’s just not how things go when you work for the Hood.

When I turned around to make sure the coast was clear before I peeled out into the night, there was a groan and laying across the back seats was the shifting lump of craZED ATTACKER  _OH MY GOD_  and my heart just about leapt from of my chest and sprinted out of the parking garage. 

Obviously, though, my natural instinct was to instead grunt (“OOH!”) and clutch the headrest like an idiot, but before I could sit there, horrified, even for a millisecond longer, the guy spoke.

“I’m not gonna hurt you, Annabeth,” he said. His voice was gravelly low and harsh, like it took effort with every word. He shifted a bit, and the fluorescence above cast a ribbon of light across his eyes, smeared with what looked like he had had a bad experience with eyeshadow. He was wearing a cowl, a pair of gloves, a leather jacket - and it was unmistakable, this was the Hood. Who’d have thought the Hood smelled so sweaty?

“How do you know my name?” was the only thing I could demand. My heart was beating too loud in my own ears for me to even be sure I spoke. But the Hood replied:

“Because you know mine.”

He pulled back his hood and laying there, pain etched across his face, dirty and bruised, was none other than my boss Percy Jackson.

And suddenly, in that second, everything came flooding back to me.

Percy Jackson, heir to millions, bashfully wielding a laptop overrun with what looked suspiciously similar to bullet holes (or as he liked to call it a “latte incident”) and asking me to repair it. Percy Jackson, CEO of Trident Consolidated, saying he was buying a bunch of military-grade arrows for a "friend’s birthday." Percy Jackson, party-boy untameable, asking me to run a spectroanalysis on an “energy drink” in a syringe because he ran out of sports bottles.

Wow.

Just wow.

All of this while the masked vigilante was running around the city, causing chaos or justice - depending on which side of the law you favored.

And I couldn’t even put two and two together. Unless I didn’t want to in the first place.

Again - wow.

“I’m not sure I even know how to respond,” I said, still feeling like I had been blindsided by a truck.

Percy huffed, as if my epiphany was taxing.

That’s when I noticed the wetness on his chest and the dark crimson that spilled from a hole in his jacket. He was clutching his hand over it, feebly trying to stop it from coming out.  _Oh jeez..._

“You’re bleeding. I’m taking you to the hospital.” I whipped around, ready to drive away -

“No!” he shouted, making me stare as he winced from the exertion.

“Why?”

“Take me to my father's old warehouse. It’s safer there.”

“Safer? You need a doctor.”

He gave me a pursed-lip look as if to say,  _Now’s not the time,_ but actually said, “You have to promise me, Annabeth Chase, that you will take me to my father's warehouse and nowhere else. And you can’t tell anyone where I am. Can you do this for me?”

“Look, I just work in I.T. It’s not like I can do much to help -”

“I’ll be fine.”

“You’re the Hood - what could possibly go wrong?” I asked, mostly to myself.

“Annabeth..." His eyes grew softer, wider, kinder. He trusted me.

A heat rose in my neck and I clamped my jaw tight.  _Cosmos_  was definitely going to wait.

I turned around, shifted, put my foot against the gas, and hauled us out of the parking garage and into the rain.

As I drove, possibly committing some traffic violations in the process, I said, “You know, for a masked vigilante, you really need to work on your fake stories.”


End file.
